


Ma Montagne

by toffeecape



Series: Smol Will [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Female Homosexuality, Femslash, Fluff and Smut, Gender or Sex Swap, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Series Spoilers, Size Difference, Size Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex, Will seems like a girl who would appreciate The Shocker, smol will, tol and smol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toffeecape/pseuds/toffeecape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is more smol than Will Graham? Fem!Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ma Montagne

**Author's Note:**

> With the addition of this fic, the Smol Will series should be read not as a continuous AU, but a series of meditations on the joys of Will/Hannibal size difference.

Will thought for a long time that she was bisexual. She was always staring at basketball and football players and other tall boys in high school. She didn’t want to _fuck_ them; she just kind of wanted to _climb_ them. Maybe ride one around in public like a mighty steed. A succession of large boyfriends, disappointing in all but their largeness, led her to try kissing one of her best girl friends, and oh. _Oh_.

She’s still crabby and too smart and finds social interaction exhausting, so it’s not like the relationship debris is piled all _that_ deep on the Will Graham highway. They’re all women, and they’re all lovely, and it’s always Will that gets dumped rather than doing the dumping. She’s always gutted over it, but in the back of her head she can’t help but wish each one had been… _taller_.

So when she walks into Jack Crawford’s office and looks up, and up, and _up_ at minimum six feet of statuesque Viking queen in a ballsy-as-fuck tweed power suit, she knows instantly she’s in trouble. All of her twitchy awkwardness comes to the forefront in the traditional Will Graham mating display. Dr. Hanni Lecter looks charmed (good), even… fascinated? Oh, less good.

All at once Will is not the star profiler meeting a new work colleague; she _is_ the work, a specimen under glass, five feet of bristling defensiveness and humiliation. She storms out of Jack’s office and beats her head silently against the wall.

Because this is Will's life, that is not the last she sees of Dr. Lecter. She shows up at the door of Will’s hotel room in Minnesota, bearing breakfast, as eccentrically and immaculately dressed as the first time. Will is wearing panties with holes and a sagging waistband, and a stained, threadbare tank top that does nothing to hide her two-nipple salute to Scandinavian excellence. She spins away into the shadows of her hotel room and searches desperately for a portal to Hell that can swallow her up. No such luck; she’s already there.

She dresses and pulls herself together enough to face breakfast across the tiny table from Dr. Lecter.

“Please, Will, call me Hanni. Dr. Lecter is for underlings, not equals.” She gives Will a wink over her tiny coffee cup, which looks even smaller cradled in her graceful, long-fingered hands. Short fingernails, neatly trimmed. Will tries not to swallow her tongue along with her mouthful of sausage. Things are looking up.

Shortly thereafter things go once again to shit. She’s been feeling sick over the Shrike from the instant the girl in the field threw him into sharp relief: the smothering, possessive love of a father who believes the first and only thing his daughter should be, is _his_. Will can’t relate, thank God, her own father erring more on the side of confused detachment, but she feels desperate to save the daughter and/or whatever sacrificial surrogate he eats next in her place. And then she sees the name, Garret Jacob Hobbs, no address, and she feels this _thrum_ of dread and knows it’s him. They’re going to be in time to stop him, or so she thinks until he opens his door and shoves his dying wife outside.

Will may have failed the psychological screenings to be an FBI agent, but she passed every physical test with flying colors, and has made a point of keeping her fitness up to that level. She can kick in a door with the best of them. She rounds the corner into the kitchen, and then it’s all bullets and blood and a storm of sensations too big for her to name in the moment. Dr. Lecter - Hanni - wraps her steady surgeon’s hands around the daughter’s neck and presses down, keeping the girl’s life inside her.

She’s still holding on as the ambulance doors close on her, just as she’s casting a worried glance at Will. She’s still holding on to the girl’s - Abigail’s - hand when Will finds them again in the hospital. Finally looking a little tired, a little disheveled, a little vulnerable in sleep, her greying ash-blonde hair falling out of its tidy bun, and Will’s heart clenches painfully. Oh, she’s in so much fucking trouble.

She has no idea. No fucking idea whatsoever, that terribly innocent Will-that-was. Trouble? Hanni Lecter will teach her the true meaning of the word.

* * *

 

“This is a good look for you,” Will says, walking in a circle around Hanni. Hanni’s shirt is bunched around her forearms, binding them behind her. Will is eye level with her cleavage, the skin soft and very slightly wrinkled by both time and the lifting of her bra. “You know, there was a moment, back on Muskrat Farm, when Alana was alone with me while I was strapped into that stupid wheely thing. If she hadn’t been so in love with the idea of you being the only one capable of violence, she could have popped the velcro then and there. Maybe I could have seen you in the bondage getup I heard about later.”

Hanni’s eyes crinkle at Will. “Would you have freed me, and slaughtered at my side?” She stands straight, the bullet wound in her side well healed. She is decorated all over with scars, a warrior lady - not a _righteous_ one, but a warrior all the same.

“I don’t know about at your side; I was about ten thousand percent done with everything. But there were walls to lean on; I could have found myself a gun and provided backup. I was mostly thinking about you kneeling trussed-up at my feet, though.”

“Would you like me to kneel now?” Hanni’s husky voice, and her accent, make Will as weak in the knees as ever.

Will steps in close, and reaches up to palm the back of Hanni’s neck, just as Hanni has done so often to her. “Bending is fine,” she murmurs, and pulls Hanni down into a kiss. Hanni moans, and trembles, and kisses Will back. Her arms twitch in their impromptu bindings as if she is desperate to lift Will, get Will’s legs around her waist and her hands under Will’s ass, as she so often loved to do in the past. Fucking Will up against the nearest wall, and the ladder in Hanni’s office, and the doors of bathroom stalls and supply closets at the FBI, Will clinging with her arms around Hanni’s shoulders, gasping wet and open-mouthed against Hanni’s neck as she fingered Will into orgasm after roller-coaster plunging orgasm. She has this way of thumbing Will’s clit, and crooking two fingers in Will’s pussy, and dipping her pinkie into Will’s asshole, all at the same time; it takes an inconceivable amount of coordination and possibly more joints than is entirely human.

Will can just about manage to eat Hanni out and keep breathing at the same time. Keeping her feet is right out.

She breaks the kiss eventually, pulling away. Hanni leans to follow, open-mouthed and starry-eyed, and Will feels a thrill in her loins. “Convince me we can fuck like we used to, and still be equals.”

“Darling Will,” Hanni says, “we were always equals. I was just trying to get you to see it.”

The truth in this hurts the ghost of Will-that-was, but Will has shaken that woman off. Become.

Hanni isn’t done with her pitch. “If anything, I believe you have now surpassed me. Nothing would please me more than to make love to you in any and all ways you desire.”

“Damn,” Will breathes. “That’s good convincing.” She reaches behind Hanni and shoves the shirt the rest of the way off Hanni’s arms. Immediately they slide around Will’s waist, Hanni’s hands stroking Will’s back through her shirt as she sniffs rapturously at the crook of Will’s neck.

“Oh, Will,” she whispers, and kisses the scar on Will’s cheek, the scar on Will’s forehead. “My little wild Will, how I have longed to touch you again.”

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too,” Will mutters. She forgets how sappy Hanni can be. It’s embarrassing, and even more embarrassing is how much she loves it. Hanni makes her feel small but not weak, surrounded but not trapped, desired but not reduced to an object of desire. Really, Will acquitted herself well holding out against all that as long as she did.

She pops the eyelets on Hanni’s bra and shoves at the waistband of her slacks. “C’mon, get these off.” Hanni skins out of her remaining clothing in time to help Will with her own shirt and pants - real adult women’s clothes for once, instead of from the goddamn children’s section. Perks of life with Hanni Lecter: knowing where to shop, even in a foreign country.

She hasn’t bothered with a bra today, though - her shoulder is still too sore to make a bra seem worth it most days - and Hanni makes a gut-punched noise when she sees Will’s breasts, such as they are, jiggling free in the moonlight. They don’t have the bountiful plumpness of Hanni’s tits, still enticing handfuls even as their pendulous dignity increases with age. Hanni only needs a bra to still be shaped like a fucking pinup model, is Will’s point, while Will looks more like a scrawny teenager with crow’s feet.

Still, Hanni looks enchanted as she covers Will’s breasts with her fingers, kneading them, and then parting her fingers to lick between them at one of Will’s nipples. Will squeaks, and claps a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Hanni pries her hand free.

“No, please, let me hear you, my love. Oh, how I have missed these, sweet and pale as swallows’ bellies.” She rubs and squeezes Will’s tits, so gentle, so reverent.

“Tell me you haven’t eaten swallows,” Will babbles, then moans as Hanni licks her nipple again, then sucks very lightly while pinching the other - not quite so lightly. Will whimpers.

“Only their nests,” Hanni says, and winks, and on _that_ smooth fucking line she skims a hand down Will’s belly to card her fingers through Will’s pubic hair. At the first press of Hanni’s fingers against Will’s clit, Will breaks out in a fine sweat.

“Hanni,” she gasps, “I can’t do this in the middle of the floor.” She’s already holding onto Hanni’s shoulders for dear life. Lust makes her uncoordinated, it always has. Hence all the wall-bracing and being spread out like a feast in bed.

Hanni raises one eyebrow and propels them both the two steps to the bed. Oh. Right. Will sprawls out gratefully. Feast it is.

Feast it _really_ is. Hanni parts her thighs with faintly trembling hands and goes for Will like she’s been starving for her. No elegant, sophisticated eating-out here; she licks Will all over like she wants to memorize her anatomy by touch of tongue alone, then buries her tongue in Will’s pussy alongside as many fingers as aren’t busy rubbing her clit or twisting their spit-and-cunt-slick way into her ass.

Will tries her best not to clap Hanni into deafness with her thighs, or rip out _too_ much of Hanni’s hair (steel grey now, and Will wonders if she was dyeing it before - not very thoroughly if she was - or more likely captivity aged her into losing the last of her blonde). She resorts to rolling a nipple in the fingers of one hand, and aimlessly rubbing her abdomen with the other; Hanni’s linoleum knife scrambled something in the nerves there, and now the scar feels bizarrely good to touch when she’s aroused.

It grounds her in the onslaught of Hanni’s wanting, the needy pulsing of her fingers and lips and tongue into every sensitive point between Will’s legs at once, calling up an answering flood in Will too long dammed up. It doesn’t take long before she bursts, clenching around Hanni, and now she really does clap her thighs to Hanni’s ears as she gasps and shudders.

True to form, Hanni doesn’t really let Will descend from that point. Just as the paroxysms ease she starts to work her hands and mouth again, and Will keens and flinches, oversensitive, and Hanni gentles her touch but doesn’t stop, and soon enough Will seizes up again. Her scream echoes off the ceiling.

“So beautiful, Will,” Hanni rasps, still moving her hands as Will flails and moans pitifully, “Allow me to give you one more? Just one more, darling, I can see that you need it.”

“I can’t.” Will’s voice cracks. She’s past caring.

“You can, I know you can. You’ll like it.” Will throws her arm over her eyes and nods, spreading her legs.

“Sweet, incomparable Will,” Hanni murmurs, and goes back to work, so gentle now, so exquisitely careful with all of Will’s wet, tender parts. Every touch sends tingles dancing over the rest of Will’s body: her lips, her nipples, the backs of her knees and the insides of her elbows. She quivers like a stringed instrument under the caress of the bow, and when she comes a third time it’s with a gusty sigh and a release of all remaining tension in her body. She will never leave this bed again; Hanni has undone her.

Hanni straightens Will’s legs again, the stroking of her hands sending afterimages of blue sparks through the blackness of Will’s vision. The bed shifts, and Hanni’s warm weight settles over Will. She lifts Will’s arm clear of her eyes. Hanni’s eyes are bright with unshed tears; at least, Will assumes they’re unshed, since there are no vertical tracks in the sheen of Will’s come soaking Hanni’s face. It’s in her eyelashes. There’s some in her _hair_.

“You got a little something on your face,” Will mumbles.

Hanni laughs, a bright smile revealing her small, slightly pointed and uneven teeth. Will loves her teeth. Will loves her laugh. God help her, after everything, Will loves Hanni Lecter.

She smacks a clumsy kiss to Hanni’s cheek with numb lips, tasting her own slick. Hanni is spread over her like a blanket, the broad, squishy pressure of skin on skin a nice counterpoint to the focused stimulation of a moment ago. Will wiggles her toes. They reach about halfway between Hanni’s knees and ankles. She rubs Hanni’s shin with her foot.

“Will, what are you- _oh_ ,” Hanni breathes, as Will summons all her strength and fumbles a hand between Hanni’s legs. She’s dripping wet herself.

“Did you come while you were down there?”

Hanni rocks against Will’s hand with a soft grunt and nods.

“Do it again. I want to watch this time.”

Hanni bites her lip and _shimmies_ onto Will’s fingers, still pressed warm and close everywhere. Will can feel her every shivering breath.

“Shall I tell you how you feel, what I’m thinking?”

“Yes, Will, please tell me. Tell me, Will,” the old familiar demand, always so hungry for Will’s words, Will’s mind.

Will smiles, and keeps her hand steady, and begins to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I know I’m reading too much into the gendering of French nouns at this point, but having a theme for my titles makes it easier to think of titles, so we’re just gonna roll with it.
> 
> 2\. [Palpalou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Palpalou/pseuds/Palpalou) has made a wonderful portrait of Fem!Hannigram, posted below in the comments or [here](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/daffenger/17190693/23137/23137_600.png). This is the very first time anyone has made fanart for a story of mine, so I am REALLY EXCITED about it :-D


End file.
